Irresistible & Oblivious
by rajikka
Summary: Romano has a crush on a certain blonde superpower. The problem? America is more oblivious than a turkey in a rainstorm. Will the Italian finally get through to him or will he strangle his crush first? (Romerica)
1. Dinner

Disclaimer: I don't own it, I just ship it.

Warning: swearing, male x male pairings (Romerica), and a touch of OOC (which I'll try to avoid the best I can)

…Dammit, I _tried_. I tried so hard just to make it into one chapter and throw it on Coffeehouse Drabbles, but I couldn't. By the time I forced my brain to stop coming up with ideas, it was already 5 chapters long. So here, ya go. Romano's adventures and exploits in winning over a certain oblivious American. (Gift fic for **91 RedRoses** for requesting it and being awesome in general)

* * *

oOo

* * *

It was a rainy day in Italy, but that was fine with Romano. It suited the miserable mood he'd worked himself into. You see, for the last 150 years or so, he had been afflicted with a terrible curse. A curse called a crush. And of all the people he knew, it just _had_ to go and make him feel all lovey-dovey and sappy around America. _America_. The most idiotic, oblivious person he knew. (And this was saying a lot with Italy as his brother and Spain as his former caretaker.)

He had hoped with the freaking _ocean_ that separated them, his feelings for the blondest of the blondes would fade, but it didn't. He had eagerly awaited the day where he'd wake up and not think about what America was doing or spend every spare thought fantasizing about how different his life would be with America in it. That never happened either. Romano was stuck with his crush the size of the land he personified and there was no getting out of it.

It frustrated him to no end that he couldn't get America out of his head. Everything he did or saw somehow reminded Romano of him – the blue sky was the color of his eyes, the golden sun was the same color as his hair, whenever someone laughed, he couldn't help but compare it to the American's cheerful laugh…hell even the ground beef he used in his rotini yesterday nearly became hamburgers for the sole reason that they were America's favorite food. And Romano hated hamburgers! This had to stop!

They barely spent any time together outside of meetings, for christ's sake. Romano just couldn't understand the logic behind his heart's inner workings. So on this rainy day, Romano handled it like he always did – moping around the house. Eventually, his younger brother found him lying on the couch in the living room. Veneziano noticed the gloomy look on his face and tried to fix it.

"Ve~ Fratello?"

Romano didn't answer. He didn't even blink to acknowledge him.

"Fratello, what's wrong?" Italy asked sincerely. He just wanted to help.

"…Nothing."

"…It's about America, isn't it?" he sighed.

That got his attention. Romano shot off the couch as if it had been engulfed in turtles.

"Cazzo!" he spat out. "What did you say?! Why the hell would I—"

"It wasn't _that_ hard to see!" North Italy laughed. "He's probably the only one who hasn't noticed!"

His southern counterpart blushed. Was he really that obvious? No, he couldn't be. Veneziano's just freakishly good at this kind of stuff.

"Why don't you just confess to him?" he asked. "It worked for me!"

"It's not that simple," Romano scrunched up his face. He hated being compared to his brother, but he hated being compared to that potato-munching bastard dating his brother even more.

"Of course it is!" his brother exclaimed, hugging him. "We're Italian! Don't you remember what Nonno always said about that?"

"Don't call me, I'll call you?"

"We make the best lovers in the world!" Veneziano elbowed him. Romano perked up at this. "There's no one we can't sweep off their feet!"

"Y-You think so?"

"Fratello, if you put even _half_ your effort into it, you could be dating America by the end of the week!"

"Of course I can!" smirked the motivated Romano. Feli was right; Italians were known for this sort of thing and he _personifies_ half of them! He quickly thanked his brother and ran upstairs to plot, er, plan.

After some thought, Romano figured the easiest way to win America over was with his favorite thing – food. America always seemed hungry or in the process of snacking on something. Lucky for him, cooking was one of the Italian's specialties. Romano smirked. He could have 1/8 of his culinary talents and still make something better than that crappy English food America grew up on.

By a stroke of luck, the next World Meeting was being held in Italy. He'd have a chance then. Until then, he cracked open the cookbooks and began picking out recipes that would have America on his knees begging for more or in a food coma. Romano decided to try and avoid the second option.

* * *

oOo

* * *

Romano nervously drummed his fingers over his meeting notes. He didn't have to take them, as he had prepared the presentation himself. The brunette had made a deal with his brother that if he made the presentation, Veneziano would give it. As his brain had been in overdrive over making tonight's dinner perfect, he didn't want to make an idiot of himself during the meeting. All the same…where they fucking _done_ yet?

During the lunch break, Romano noticed the garbage America had chosen for himself and decided to make his move. He was actually alone for a change too, he'd never have an opening like this again. He took a deep breath and walked over.

"Hey bas-America!" he called out.

"Hmm? Oh, hey, South Italy!" America looked up and smiled. "What's up?"

"I saw the crap you were having for lunch, that's what!" he scowled, but mostly at himself for being unable to sweet talk him in the presence of such horrifying food. Had he brought it with him _from_ America? Or worse…England?

"Want some?"

"No!" he shuddered, then recomposed himself. "How could you come to Italy and eat that?"

"Oh, I got in late and didn't have time to grab something else," America grinned sheepishly.

"You can't visit Italy without eating true Italian food!" Romano chided him. "That's just…fucking wrong!"

"Uh, sorry?"

"Tell you what," Romano began, sighing. "My brother bailed on me for dinner tonight and I already have most of it laid out. Want to come over and eat true Italian food?"

In reality, Romano knew that Italy would be with Germany tonight and for once encouraged it.

"Yeah, that sounds great!" America happily accepted. "I love Italian Garden, I'm sure your cooking is even better since this is where it came from!"

It took all of Romano's self restraint to not strangle the blonde for comparing him to that cheap knock-off. Did he even know what they _did_ to their pasta?! No, forget about it. Not important.

"What time do you want me over?" the fast-food chain junkie asked. "I have a really late flight, so any time shouldn't be a problem."

"U-Uh, how about seven?" Romano was starting to get nervous.

"Seven, it is!" America stood up to throw away the remains of his lunch. "Seeya then, South Italy!"

"Just don't be late, hamburger-bastard!"

Romano watched as the golden-haired man walked away from him and tried to get his heart to stop racing. He had a godamned _feast_ to make.

* * *

oOo

* * *

By 6:30, Romano was putting a large pan of lasagna in the oven and setting the timer. As long as America was on time, it would be ready at 7:00 sharp. The Italian picked up his knife and resumed cutting up tomatoes for the bruschetta. This meal was going to be perfect or he was going to die trying.

Surprisingly enough, Romano had to stop topping the grilled bruschetta bread with olive oil when he heard the doorbell ring. Was America here already? He's usually late to everything. Romano felt his heart skip a beat.

"Hey, Romano!" America greeted him brightly at the door. "I was totally starved, so I got here a little early! Hope you don't mind."

"Che, like I care," Romano lapsed back into his tsundere defense mechanism. "I was wondering if you'd show up at all."

"Of course I would! You invited me, silly!" laughed the American. "Thanks for having me, by the way."

Luckily for Romano, America seemed to have the same immunity to his scowly face and snide comments that the other airheads in his life gained over time. Whatever it was, it had to be powerful or he was fairly certain that Veneziano and Spain would have disowned him by now.

They walked inside and Romano gave his guest a brief tour of the place on their way to the living room. The Italies' house was very old and very big, but that was fine with America. He loved old architecture, after all. Just as he was about to bypass the kitchen entirely, Romano stopped him.

"Take this, bastard," Romano said, shoving a plate full of bruschetta into his arms.

"Huh?"

"Not that I care, but you said you were hungry, right?" the Italian rolled his eyes. "Think of this as an appetizer."

"Wow! Thanks, Romano!" America beamed. Not only did those look good, but they smelled good! The blonde wasn't used to both things happening to his food at the same time. "But don't you want any help?"

"You could barely find the kitchen, much less make your way around it," he waved him off. "Living room's straight ahead. Go watch some TV or something while you wait."

"If you're sure…" America did as instructed while Romano returned to making heaven in a four-course meal.

* * *

oOo

* * *

In the living room, America was too distracted by the antipasto in his hands to focus on TV. Was this really just bread? It was amazing! They sure didn't have this at Olive Garden, that was for sure! Within minutes, the bruschetta had vanished. America didn't want to leave the plate out there, so he decided to take it back to the kitchen.

He was about to call his fellow Nation's name, but was distracted again, this time by Romano's mad cooking skills. America was impressed as he watched him work. It was incredible to see how fast he sliced, diced, and created a meal from scratch. If it tasted even half as good as all the effort Romano was putting into it, it would be amazing! The smell alone was enough to put America in seventh heaven.

"I don't know what you're making, but it smells delicious!" he told the half-nation.

"H-How long were you standing there?!" Romano nearly dropped a pot of noodles.

"I don't know…a few minutes maybe?" the superpower smiled and noticed his companion's face turn bright red. It must be really warm in the kitchen!

Once dinner was laid out on the table, Romano gave his guest permission to dig in. As soon as America took his first bite of lasagna, he was convinced he died and had gone to heaven. He closed his eyes in ecstasy and praised his host/chef.

"Oh, mannn! 'Mano you're the best _ever_!"

The Italian brightened at this and didn't even call him out on talking with food in his mouth…yet. He was just happy America liked his cooking…not that he was worried he wouldn't! Italian cooking was by far the best after all! Romano was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost missed America begin to devour all the food in front of him like a black hole.

"Slow down, idiota!" Romano commanded. "You'll ruin the flavor if you don't take the time to actually _enjoy_ it!"

"Sowwy," America chewed what was left in his chipmunk cheeks. "It was just so good that I wanted to eat it right away!"

"Maybe, but it tastes even better when you take your time to savor each flavor."

America was confused by this, but decided to try anyway. Unsurprisingly, Romano was right. As he slowly chewed his food, one bite at a time, the natural flavors and spices practically danced on his tongue.

"Romanoooo…" America began.

"What?"

"Where have you _been_ my entire life?" he laughed. "I can't _believe_ I've been missing out on this for so long!"

"Whatever, bastard," the other quickly looked away to hide his blush. He'd been doing more of that this meal than he had his entire life.

America happily chatted throughout the dinner while Romano listened and made mental notes. When he noticed the American had barely touched his wine, he asked him if he didn't like it.

"It's good, but I don't really drink much wine," the blonde shrugged. "In my country, I'm not even old enough!"

"Idiot. You're well over 200…" Romano pointed out.

"Yeah, but my body doesn't look it!"

Romano silently agreed and tried to avert his eyes.

"Not everybody knows I'm a Nation in my country, so it would cause trouble if I'm seen drinking since I look like I'm under 21," he grinned. "Plus, I have to drive to the airport to fly home tonight."

"Why don't you just get a cab?"

"Because I rented a motorcycle for the day!" the blonde told him excitedly. "It's been forever since I got to take one out for a spin! Cabs are more fun here than at my place, but I still prefer driving.

Romano learned two things from that conversation – No Wine (which would change his game plan later) and He Likes To Go Fast.

* * *

oOo

* * *

After dessert and America begging him to give him leftovers of whatever sacred pastry he made, Romano tried to gather his courage. He got America all to himself tonight, made him a damned tasty dinner, there was really only one other thing he had to do.

"S-So, America…there's um, a r-reason I invited you over, bastard," he mentally slapped himself for cursing during his confession.

"To eat real Italian food?" America asked, looking up from helping clear the table.

"N-No, besides that…um…how to say it…?"

"Something wrong?" America tilted his head in an adorable fashion that really didn't help Romano in this situation.

"I-I was hoping you…er, we could…uh…" he fumbled over his words. Why couldn't he just _say_ it?!

"Oh!" America's brilliant smile lit up the room. "I think I know what this is about!"

"You do?" Romano asked in surprise/terror. What if he was pissed off now? What if he didn't like him back? His head was reeling.

"Yup!" American nodded and he walked towards Romano. "I feel the same way!"

"R-Really?!"

"Of course!" the blonde clapped him on the back. "I'd love to be friends with you!"

Romano's world came to a screeching halt.

"F-Friends…?"

"Yeah! I know we'll be great friends!" He laughed and hugged the Italian. "And it'll be awesome having a friend who can cook as well as you! I've never eaten such good food!"

"Friends," repeated Romano, who was still stumbling over that hurdle.

"Yep, we're buds now!" America rested a hand on his shoulder.

"…Great."

* * *

oOo

* * *

America ended up staying a little longer to help Romano clean up ("Least I can do for my new buddy!") and then had to leave to catch his flight. Italy came home a few hours later, excited to hear about how his brother's night went. He was surprised to find him face down at the table, beside an empty bottle of wine, cursing everything from the Lord, to Jupiter, to their cookware set.

"S-So how'd it go, fratello?" Italy sat beside him, patting his back.

Romano glared at him. If looks could kill, he would have become an only child at that moment.

"I-I'm sure it couldn't have been that bad…" Italy winced. Had he not lived with his older brother for centuries, he would have fled instantly.

"…He wants to be _friends_," Romano emphasized the last word with a hiss. It was the same tone he used to describe war crimes, France, and Kraft-brand macaroni.

"Okay, that's okay," Italy nodded. "We can work with that! Think of it as the first step!"

Romano rolled away from him.

"At least he doesn't hate you!" Italy stroked his hair softly in a reassuring manner. "If he wants to be your friend, that means he likes you!"

Romano grunted.

"Maybe not in the way you want him to, but it's a start!" the half-nation was getting all fired up. "You just need to re-double your efforts and win his heart! You can do it, fratello!"

"…You really think so?" the older brother slowly sat up.

"I _know_ so!" Italy clenched his fists. "Nobody can beat an Italian in love!"

"Y-Yeah, that's true…"

"Of course it is! We're irresistible!"

"Right! That's right!" Romano smiled. "If you were able to win over that macho potato bastard, it should be a snap for me to be with America!"

"That's ri—hey! Fratello!" pouted the Northern half of Italy. "You meanie! That's not very nice!"

"Sorry, Veneziano," he stood up an puffed out his chest. "Okay! Tomorrow I'll start over! I'll win that hamburger-bastard over yet!"

* * *

oOo

* * *

**A/N**

And there's chapter one! I have it outlined to be a fairly short story, roughly five chapters. Let me know how you liked it~

-Rajikka

**Translations: **

Fratello – Brother (It.)

Idiota – Idiot (It.)


	2. Walk in the Park

Disclaimer: I don't own it, I just ship it.

Warning: swearing, male x male pairings, and a touch of OOC (which I'll try to avoid the best I can)

Holy crap! Thanks for all the support! Here's your next chapter!

* * *

oOo

* * *

Although most of the time, Romano hated being dragged off to the G-8 meetings, he was willing to make an exception this time. Why? Because it was in New York. As in _America's place_. Veneziano didn't even have to ask him to go and Romano had already purchased their tickets.

At the meeting, Romano was remarkably well-behaved. He didn't even pick on Germany once (the bagel he threw at him at breakfast for kissing Feli on the cheek totally didn't count and was well worth it. Cream cheese really brought out the German's irritated eyes). And what did he do when France moved in on him? Yell? Curse? Threaten to tell Spain on him? No, the Italian said he didn't have time to chat/be groped because he was finalizing a car deal he had to go over with Russia in a moment. Romano was surprised at how effective it was to fight creepy bastard with creepy bastard.

The only downside was that he didn't get a chance to really talk to America before the meeting started. The superpower was preoccupied with a very angry Englishman telling him where he could 'get' a coffee refill himself.

"But I said please!" America defended himself. It wasn't like he didn't have manners. He had only asked his former caretaker because he was busy setting up the projector for his presentation.

"You asked me if you could _get_ a refill!" England raged. "Are you _trying_ to butcher the English language?!"

"Of course not! That was perfect English!"

"You wouldn't know perfect English if it bit you on the arse!" continued England. "It's can I _have_ a refill, not can I _get_ a refill! Honestly, America! One of these days I'm going to curse you until you get it right!"

…Yeah. Romano didn't have the time or courage to deal with the mystic bastard quite yet.

* * *

oOo

* * *

"Hey, South Italy!" America greeted him after the meeting broke for lunch. "I was thinking that since you got me dinner at your place, I could get you dinner at mine!"

"Oh? And when did you start cooking?" the Italian smirked at him, secretly happy that America sought him out personally.

"Are you kidding? I can't compete with that meal you made last time!" the blonde flashed him a smile. "I figured I'd treat you to lunch at a restaurant."

"No," Romano darkened. He might have a thing for America, but he wasn't going to suffer at some fast food hellhole for him. "No burgers."

"But Red Robin is _gourmet_ burgers!" insisted America. "And it's October, so they have pretzel buns!"

"'Gourmet' and 'burgers' don't belong in the same sentence, idiota."

"But I wanted to have lunch together since we're friends now!"

Romano tried not to cringe at the word 'friends.'

"Look, bastard, if it means that much to you, I guess we can have lunch together…" he sighed. "But only because I bought too many ingredients."

"Huh?"

After arriving in New York yesterday, Romano wasted no time in tracking down all the specialty stores and buying the best Italian ingredients he could find. He was pleasantly surprised that several of the stores carried some halfway decent brands. It was impressive…for America.

"So you brought some stuff already?"

"Of course," Romano scoffed. "Did you really think I'd risk McDonald's or Burger King?"

They headed down the hallway to the room containing a small kitchen set aside for the Nations to use. Although most tended to eat out at these meetings, the kitchen was kept over the years as a courtesy. It didn't leave Romano much to work with and left much to be desired, but it would do the trick. The trick of winning America over through his stomach.

Romano had intricately planned out his strategy with details down to the minute. He would be making Italian cuisine again, but didn't think America would mind. As long as he managed to start cooking within the next ten minutes, all would be according to plan.

They found the kitchen predictably empty. Romano wasted no time in rolling up his sleeves, tossing an apron on his clothes (because even the best chefs wear aprons when they have Armani on), and began expertly mincing vegetables with the travel knife set he packed from home (TSA was _not_ happy with him, diplomatic immunity aside).

America watched with interest as the vegetables were swept to the side of a cutting board. Romano added some kind of spice to them and they all went sailing into a pot on the stovetop. The half-nation flitted around the kitchen, quickly boiling noodles, drizzling bread with olive oil, and pouring two glasses of luscious red wine. Everything was going according to The Plan. At least it was until he heard the door to the kitchen open.

Enter Prussia. Albino idiots were _not_ part of The Plan.

"What the hell are you doing in here, bastard?" Romano growled at him.

"Nice to see you too, South."

"I didn't know you were here, Prussia," America responded cheerfully. "How's it going?"

"Kesesese! Not bad," the albino laughed. "I heard Romano, the world's most irritable half-nation, was coming to this meeting and wanted to see what the big deal was."

"At least I was invited."

"So was I!"

"You haven't been a country for over 60 years," Romano reminded him. "At least I'm half of a nation that actually _exists_."

"So what brings you guys to the kitchen? I thought for sure you'd be running off to the nearest McDonald's," Prussia directed the last question to the blonde. "I hope you weren't after my secret beer stash."

"Romano said he'd make lunch for me," America grinned. "Your beer is safe so far."

"Aww, does South have a little _crush_?" Prussia began his accusation, complete with kissy noises. "Damn, I never thought I'd see the day you'd be so _whipped_, Roma—"

It was then that Prussia learned a very valuable lesson. Italian knife badassery wasn't limited to the kitchen. Before Prussia could even finish his sentence, Romano cut him off with a knife. Literally. Had the albino been standing a couple more inches to his right, he'd have taken a knife between the eyes. As it was now, he could glance over and see his surprised expression reflected off the knife embedded in the wall.

Romano couldn't clean or drive the speed limit to save his life, but he could throw a knife at a target half a mile away with pinpoint accuracy. Prussia nervously stammered out his trademark laugh once more before deciding it was time to leave.

* * *

oOo

* * *

As he spread out several dishes of delicious Italian cooking, Romano couldn't help but worry. He wished he had time (and space) to transport a better set of pots and pans. The ones in the G-8 building were old and not quite seasoned right.

America didn't seem to notice and enjoyed Romano's meal all the same.

"Dude, whoever ends up marrying you is going to be one lucky person!"

The Italian tried to force a laugh at his joke, but couldn't.

"Thanks for lunch, Romano! It was a nice surprise!" America beamed. "You should come to meetings more often. They're way more fun with you!"

"I'll think about it, bastard," the brunette shrugged and changed the subject. Their lunch break was nearly over. He only had a few more minutes to complete phase two of his plan. "So where exactly in this city is the Central Park I've heard so much about?"

"You want to see it?" America asked excitedly. He was always happy when other Nations took an interest in his lands.

"Yes, but I don't know the area…" Romano trailed off before gathering his courage and looking up at America pointedly. "You should be my tour guide."

"Huh?"

"To make up for nearly taking me to another one of your stupid burger joints."

"Sure, what are friends for?" the superpower laughed, walking off happily explaining all the different attractions for his friend to see. Because they were such good friends now. _Friends, friends, friends_.

America's back was turned, so he didn't see Romano nearly punch a hole through the wall.

* * *

oOo

* * *

America was thoroughly enjoying his job as a tour guide for the afternoon. The very second the duo stepped out of the taxi, he started rambling on about how it was designed in the 19th century by Frederick Law Olmsted and Calvert Vaux as America's first and foremost major urban public space. They had even let America see the designs himself as they created it, which was exciting for the young Nation. When it declined in the 70's, America helped start the Central Park Conservancy by gathering a bunch of his friends and philanthropists to restore and better maintain the park afterwards. He added that the process would have been a lot faster if Tony Stark had been around. Romano didn't have the heart to remind him that Tony Stark was a fictional character.

America noticed that Romano took an interest in many of the sculptures throughout the park. He knew they looked a lot different than the ones in South Italy, but Romano could still appreciate all the hard work that went into bringing each war memorial alive. America couldn't help but laugh at the horrified expression the brunette wore as we watched a pack of kids begin to _climb_ on the Alice in Wonderland sculpture.

"Bastard! We have to stop them!" Romano exclaimed. "They're fucking _ruining_ it!"

"It's okay, 'Mano," America tried to calm him down. "That one's there _for_ them to climb."

"What?!" Romano replied, shooting another worried glance at the bronze statue being used like a McDonald's Play Place. "That's horrible!"

"Um…that's the way it's always been. I think this one's been up since the 60's…" America scratched his head, trying to explain. "It was commissioned as a gift to the children of New York."

"Maybe, but that doesn't mean the little brats should _destroy_ it!" Romano clutched his head. He couldn't believe the complete lack of respect for art here. He needed to leave before he started throwing the little ankle-biters off the sculpture himself. "L-Let's just go, hamburger bastard…"

America decided to show Romano the Bethesda Terrace next. It was one of his favorite areas to visit and considered to be the heart of Central Park. The terrace was located right on the lakefront and looked beautiful in any season. Best of all? Nobody was allowed to climb on the seasonal sandstone carvings. Romano was thrilled.

It was a little crowded in the Carousel area, so when Romano tugged on his sleeve and asked to hold his hand, he obliged. Good thing his new friend was so smart. He would've felt terrible if he'd lost the half-nation in the middle of Central Park. Especially if it got late and the muggers and pick-pockets came out in full force. He'd hate to have Romano run into any of them. The superpower squeezed his friend's hand reassuringly. He'd make sure Romano stayed safe.

* * *

oOo

* * *

After they made it past the giant Carousel and all 57 of its horses, America offered to grab some drinks for them. Romano nodded his consent and waited for him on a nearby bench. While waiting, he watched the people passing by with little interest. Must be a popular area. Next to a nearby light post he saw a pair of pickpockets gesture to America (who was absentmindedly rocking on the balls of his feet, waiting his turn in line) and snickering. _That_ got his attention. Especially when they called him a big, brainless-looking guy, offending Romano in the process (because only _he_ got to call him that, dammit!)

Romano felt a rush of bravery and stomped over to the two delinquents. They were about the same height, so he was able to look/glare at them both in the eye as he told them off.

"Oi, assholes. Leave him the hell alone."

"Ooh! Big talk, little man!" the girl sneered.

"Yeah, and nice accent!" the boy laughed. "Where ya from? _Mexico?_"

"South Italy," Romano gave them his best evil smirk. He had been getting a lot more use out of it ever since Germany started dating his fratello. "That means I like to step on people's necks. I'd be happy to break your legs for you."

It was a bluff, but they still bought it and took off quickly. Romano sighed in relief. He didn't need the pair of bastardos interrupting his Not-Actually-A-Date-Date with America. They probably thought he was with the Mafia. He felt bad about the kind of reaction that got here. Romano felt a sudden rush of guilt for not being able to control the monsters that came from his land. America shouldn't have to suffer for his mistakes.

"There you are, 'Mano!" America ran over to him. "Were those your friends?"

"No, they were…Nevermind." The Italian took the Styrofoam cup of hot cider offered to him. "They were nobody."

"You look bummed," America's face fell. "Are you feeling alright, buddy?"

"Never better," Romano took a sip of his cider. It burned his throat slightly as he swallowed it. He didn't realize it would be served _boiling_. This was almost as bad as the time Japan introduced saké to him. He felt like a goddamn dragon after that experience.

America put his arm over the brunette's shoulder and squeezed him reassuringly. Romano nearly dropped his drink.

"Maybe you're just cold? It's always really warm where you live, right?" the blonde smiled. "That hot cider should warm you right up!"

Yeah…it was definitely the _cider_ that was making his face heat up so quickly.

* * *

oOo

* * *

At the lake, Romano saw a bunch of ridiculous ducks with people inside them and asked his tour guide what they were.

"The paddleboats?" he asked. "I guess they're pretty popular. I've never been on them myself, but I've heard…"

Halfway through America's explanation, Romano took notice of the couples in them, cozy and happy. They snuggled closely together as if they didn't have a care in the world.

"B-Bastard!" he exclaimed. "I want to ride on the ducks!"

"Huh? You mean the swans?"

"Whatever! You game?"

"Sure!"

America didn't think Romano would want to go on them at all. He'd never been on them either, but loved trying new things. It might be more fun with his new friend too.

They visited the rental shop which was blessedly line-free. In no time, they were riding their very own duck/swan. Romano enjoyed being so close to America. His shoulder rested beside the blonde's and he could feel the warmth pouring from America's body. The superpower himself was somehow sailing the boat with his feet, which still confused Romano. He may have preferred elegant canal boats in Venice, but the alone time with the blonde was worth it. The half-nation was quite comfortable with the way things turned out, ridiculous duck or not.

Until America saw something shiny.

America wasn't sure what that glistening object in the middle of the pond was, but he knew he had to have it (or at least investigate it). He suddenly turned the boat around and told Romano that he was going to catch it. Romano tried to go along with it, but was caught off guard when America suddenly sped up, managing to leave waves in their wake.

One sharp turn later and Romano found himself flung out of the accursed duck. He landed in the water, sputtering and freezing.

'_This wasn't in the fucking plan_…' he thought bitterly.

True to his heroic title, America was there to get him out quickly and back to his hotel to change and warm up. Unfortunately, there were some things hot cider couldn't fix.

America's ADHD was one of those things.

* * *

oOo

* * *

**A/N**

Another chapter complete! I've never actually been to Central Park, so I got all my info off the main website. Still not sure if they have "Ducks" or not, but that was my main inspiration for this chapter, so I was unwilling to let it go. Any guesses on what Romano's next strategy will be? :3

-Rajikka

**Translations: **

Fratello – Brother (It.)

Idiota – Idiot (It.)

Saké – Japanese rice wine, traditionally served boiling hot.


	3. Video Games

Disclaimer: I don't own it, I just ship it.

Warning: swearing, male x male pairings, and a touch of OOC (which I'll try to avoid the best I can)

So excited you guys are liking this story so much! All the comments motivated me to update earlier than planned. Hope you like Romano's non-traditional attempt to win over America :)

* * *

oOo

* * *

After two weeks of exchanging emails and text messages, Romano had finally built up enough courage to set up a skype "date" with America. These had gone well overall and the two got to know each other a little better. Romano made mental notes about all the things, places, and foods his crush liked. America had a blast learning all kinds of new things about his new friend. For example, while he liked art, Romano was more into sculpting than he was painting (which he described as "Feli's thing"). He never would have guessed they both loved The Rolling Stones either. Also, America learned Romano was not just 'into' soccer (which he called 'football' for some reason), he was _obsessed_ with it. If soccer was used to boost Italian military morale, the superpower had little doubt that the Italy brothers would have conquered the world by now. Romano was so cool and full of surprises!

While many of the other Nations were friends with America, not many of them made the time for him that Romano did. The superpower knew things got crazy when you were looking after an entire _country_ of people; his own paperwork drove him up the wall some days too. But Romano was different. Even though he had his own pile of paperwork to do, he always remembered to call or email America to check in on him or hear about his day, especially if he knew America was working on a project or business deal that was driving him crazy (of course Romano would never admit that he was worried about him, but the blonde was getting better at reading him). America was proud to have a friend as amazing as Romano. He found himself getting more and more excited every chance he got to hear from him.

One night, America was telling Romano all about the role-playing game that was about to come out in Japan. Romano didn't know much about video games (he had only found out about the famous Mario and Luigi a few years ago), but it sounded like this 'Tales of Final Dreams XIV' was a big deal.

"I've been waiting foreeeeever for it to come out, 'Mano!" America explained. "The developers delayed it even longer than Tales of Final Dreams XIII! And we had to wait a year and a half for that one!"

"Uh-huh," Romano tried to sound interested, but he had no idea what the American was telling him.

"I'll have to invite you over when I play it! You'd love it!" grinned the blonde. "Have you played any of the other ones?"

"Uh, no," the Italian admitted. "I don't play many video games."

"You at least know who Mario is, right?"

"Yes, bastard. I know who Mario is," Romano rolled his eyes.

"That's good," America grinned. "I heard Japan based him off you and your brother."

"What?!"

"Haha! I'm kidding! I'm kidding!" the superpower laughed. "Just checking. I guess you really do know who Mario is. Why don't you play video games?"

"I dunno. They just never caught my eye."

Unlike a certain blonde he knew.

America spent the next ten minutes explaining to him that he just had to find the right kind of game. He had a feeling Romano would love puzzle games (because he's so smart) or fighting games (because everyone loved beating the crap out of their friends in a safe setting). The blonde recommended Tetris, Candy Crush, Super Smash Brothers, and Street Fighter to him. When Romano explained that he didn't have a console to play them on, America offered to lend him his at the next meeting in a few days.

"But don't you need it to play Tales of Final Dreams?"

"Nah, I've got lots of other systems," America waved it off. "Besides it'll take awhile before Tales' to reach the States. At least another month or two."

"Oh. That's…That's too bad, bastard."

"Thanks, 'Mano," America flashed him a winning smile. "It's kind of sweet that you care."

"I-It's not like I _care_ or anything," Romano glanced away, cheeks burning. "I just wasn't looking forward to you whining about it for another month or two. That's all!"

The two chatted for a little longer before America had to go. They bid each other farewell and Romano glanced at his clock. It should be about 10 PM in Japan right now. He figured the Island Nation was still up and decided to give him a call.

"Hello, South Italy," Japan picked up. "How unexpected of you to call. What can I do for you?"

"Can you get me a copy of Tales of Final Dreams XIV?" Romano asked, straight to the point.

"Of course. I didn't know you were a gamer, South Italy…"

"I-I'm not," he blushed, glad he used a phone and not skype. "It's…It's for America."

"For America?"

"Yeah, the hamburger bastard said he wanted to play it, but it wouldn't get to his place for another month or two," Romano scratched his head. "I just wanted him to shut up about it is all."

"That's very kind of you," Japan jotted a note down to call Hungary later. "I'd be happy to get you a copy, but America usually waits for the localization process."

"The hell does that mean?"

Japan chuckled. His friend really was clueless about games. He explained that when an American studio localizes a game, they translate it into English and dub it. That way Westerners can play it. While America can speak Japanese, he can't read it very well, so he often waits for games from Japan to be translated. The Asian Nation also mentioned that the company who made the game America wants is keeping it under wraps until it hits the shelves in another week.

"Dammit," Romano cursed his luck. "Then it won't even be out in your place before the next World Meeting…"

"Not necessarily," Japan began, a Cheshire grin forming. "I think we can help each other with this dilemma."

"How do you figure?"

"Can you still read Japanese?"

"Of course I can, bastard!" Romano huffed. All that practice in WWII wasn't just for show.

"Perfect. I don't have the time to translate it into English, but you can."

"I have no idea how to do something like that!"

"It's actually quite simple, just time-consuming," Japan assured him. "I can bring the necessary equipment to the next meeting I have in Europe."

"Fine, but what do you want in return?" Romano asked suspiciously.

"I was having some difficulty at my civilian job, but I'm sure you can help."

If there were beautiful women to flirt with or pasta to be cooked, Romano was your man, but he couldn't even remember what Japan did for a living at his civilian job. Something with technology?

"How the hell can I help with any of that?"

"What do you know about Vocaloids?"

"Voca…what?"

* * *

oOo

* * *

The next day, Romano found himself getting dressed to meet Japan at the potato bastard's house. Apparently, he had to finalize some trade deal with Germany, but was taking his other work with him too. Romano wasn't looking forward to translating things the entire day, but the combination of how happy America would be and how Veneziano dropped his bowl of cereal in shock when Romano told him he was joining him today at Germany's house made it worth it.

"So, why do you want to go there?" Italy asked his brother as he pulled the car out of the driveway.

"To meet with Japan," Romano replied simply.

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, really."

"Oh, reeeeeeeally?"

"Yeah, reall—okay, fine. The ricecake bastard's supposed to show me how to translate a video game for America if I helped him with some kind of work for his civilian job."

"How?" Italy was confused. "You don't know how to program games. You don't even _play_ them!"

"This is different," Romano insisted. "What do you know about Vocaloids?"

"Voca…what?"

"I don't know the details either, but apparently Japan needed some voice samples, which is where I come in."

"That's amazing, fratello!" the younger brother cheered. "Are you going to be in an anime or something?"

Romano felt his face heat up and admitted that he didn't know. Actually, he'd been trying not to think about it. Japan had sworn to keep his identity a secret though. Italy ve'd in excitement and chattered the rest of the ride about how Romano would make a great voice actor. The southern half-nation spent the rest of the trip ignoring his younger brother and texting America. He paid no attention the stupid backflips his heart did every time America texted him a response.

_What are you up to, bastard? –R_

_Not much. Getting stuff ready for the meeting. You? –A_

_Stuck in a car with my brother for the next two hours. –R_

_Did you bring your ipod? A book? Nintendo DS? –A_

_I already told you I don't play video games! –R_

_This is a good example of why you should :P –A_

_Gee, thanks. Bastard. –R_

_Hang in there! -A_

"Fratello, you're smiling again!" Feli teased.

"Shut up. Am not."

_I can't wait to see you again at the meeting! –A_

Romano definitely did not smile at that. Oh, no. He _beamed_. Veneziano practically drove off the road.

* * *

oOo

* * *

"Y-You want me to _sing_?! Are you crazy, bastard?!"

They had just arrived and Romano had just learned what a Vocaloid was.

"Of course," Japan raised an eyebrow. "That's why I asked for voice samples."

"I didn't know it meant singing!"

"That's too bad…" Japan looked sad. "That's what we had agreed on, so I can't give you the game unless you bring 'Fiorello di Rosso' to life with your voice…"

Upon hearing the name, Romano blinked in disbelief and Italy tried to contain his giggles.

"How do you like the name?"

"It's a cute name!"

"It's not cute, it's ridiculous!" argued the eldest Italy brother.

"I wanted to respect your wishes when you said that you didn't want to use your actual name, Romano, but we still can if you'd like."

The Italian sighed, knowing when he'd been beat.

"Alright, you win, bastard," Romano sighed and followed the Asian into the room he set up with recording equipment. "Let's just get this over with."

So for the next three hours, Romano sang his heart out while his brother helped Japan with concept art sketches for 'Fiorello di Rosso' the temperamental Vocaloid from Italy who loved tomatoes and Western culture *cough,men,cough* When the brunette could barely speak, let alone sing, Japan finally looked up from the pile of sketches he and Veneziano had created (they finally went with keeping the ahoge, but making his hair a little longer and dark red) told him he had all that he needed. The black-haired Nation handed over the game Romano had worked so hard for and showed him how to translate it.

Armed with a Japanese-to-English dictionary, a large bag of cough drops, and a coffee cup the size of a small child, Roma settled in for a long night of localizing.

Japan had been right on both counts. The good – translating was relatively easy once he got the hang of it. The bad – the bastard wasn't kidding when he said it was time-consuming! There were so many characters, especially in the towns, that all had lines. Feli had wished him good luck and started another pot of coffee for him before going to bed. Even Germany (who was doing remarkably well with having a crazy person take over his living room) and Prussia (who changed into his old knife-repelling armor after seeing the unexpected third houseguest) had called it a night an hour ago.

It was already past two in the morning and he was only halfway done. Romano wasn't able to do anything about the voice acting (as he didn't have a cast of perfectly-pitched English voice actors and his own voice was failing him from all the singing he'd done this afternoon), but he was able to subtitle them. He'd heard from Japan that America didn't mind subtitles for cutscenes; the blonde watches tons of subbed anime.

And so with an afternoon World Meeting looming around the corner, Romano stayed up the entire night subbing, translating, and screaming at the computer screen. By the time he was supposed to meet America at the meeting, he was barely functioning. He managed to hand the game to the confused superpower and told him it was in English.

America's blue eyes widened and he excitedly asked his friend (who had collapsed into a nearby chair) where he got a hold of it.

"Don't worry about it…" Romano rested his head on the smooth desk. He was so _tired_, dammit…

America scooped him up in a huge hug and spun him around.

"You're the best friend _ever_, Romano!" he squeezed tightly. "I really, really mean it!"

The brunette sighed deeply, too exhausted to punch him in the face. All that work and he was still just his fucking friend…ugh…it's so…

America felt Romano go limp in his arms. He stopped spinning him around the room and looked at his face in confusion.

"'Mano? You okay, buddy?" he asked, concern in his eyes. "'Mano? Why did you fall asleep?"

* * *

oOo

* * *

America would later play the game that night and loved it. The story and character development was top-notch (just as he'd come to expect from the series), but he had to wonder why the main character began swearing so much after the first half of the game.

* * *

oOo

* * *

**A/N**

I realize people don't normally leave their initials (or the like) in texts, but I wanted to make sure you weren't confused. Also, I have a distinct feeling that America's texting would be a lot more… _abbreviated_, but I already had a headache and didn't want to make it worse :P So he got a Rank Up in Texting Skills and I got some green tea. Who knows, maybe he would text better anyway just to impress Romano? Yeah, let's go with that.

I think I was subconsciously punishing America for his obliviousness by giving him less screen time this chapter. Oops. He'll get more next time, I promise! Romano can't win him over if he's not there, after all. (In the next chapter or so, we'll see why America's so spacey when it comes to relationships too) I wanted this chapter to be a less "traditional" romantic-y approach, since Romano's a clever guy and could find another way to woo his American. Hopefully you guys liked it :)

**Translations:**

Fratello – Brother (It.)

Idiota – Idiot (It.)

Vocaloid - A singing voice synthesizer program from Japan. Most voices are represented by a character with a unique appearance, color, sound, and/or token item (ex: Miku is often green and seen with leeks)

Fiorello – "little flower" (It.) More common as a surname than a first name, but whatever.

Rosso – "red" (It.) so, "Fiorello di Rosso" means "Little flower, son of Red" which sounds ridiculous to Roma, hilarious to Italy, and leaves Japan confused. Japan was trying to get something closer to "Son of the Red Flower" after all, lol.

Tales of Final Dreams XIV – A spoof on the Tales series and the Final Fantasy series. Both are popular RPG franchises in Japan.


	4. Flowers and Chocolates

Disclaimer: I don't own it, I just ship it.

Warning: swearing, male x male pairings, and a touch of OOC (which I'll try to avoid the best I can)

Thank you everybody for all the positive feedback! All the comments and reviews really brighten my day :) By now, Roma's getting desperate to get his feelings through America's thick skull. Let's see what he does, shall we?

* * *

oOo

* * *

After not hearing from his brother for some time, Italy decided to visit Romano. Unsurprisingly, his fratello was depressed that his thoughtful gift for America had been greatly appreciated, but he was still friend-zoned. From what Italy saw, Romano had passed out from lack of sleep before he could properly confess his feelings to the superpower the day he gave America the video game he'd pulled an all-nighter to translate in time. Italy felt bad for him, so he tried to cheer his big brother up. Unfortunately, his week-long visit was almost at an end and he still wasn't able to do something about the doom and gloom cloud of angst that perpetually hung around Romano's head.

"Admit it, fratello. You're not always a ray of sunshine, but you've been sulking ever since the G-8 meeting," the amber-eyed half-nation sat beside Romano on their couch. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"

"Nothing happened," the older brother responded. "And I'm _not_ sulking."

"Ve, Roma, that's the second time you've worn that shirt this week," Italy sighed, taking the other's hand in his own. "I'm getting worried."

Romano's eyes widened as he realized Feli was right. That was true, that was…disgusting. He didn't understand what was going on anymore. None of this stupid relationship bullshit made any sense. He was Italian, he was supposed to be good at this! South Italy hugged his brother in confusion, tears welling up in his eyes. Why him? Hadn't he put up with enough crap in his life already? Why was it that all he could think of was America's protective arms wrapped around him? Or the way his golden hair fell perfectly over his sky blue eyes? Or what it would be like to hold the superpower's strong jaw and taste his lips with his own?

"Dio mio…What's happening to me, Veneziano?!"

"Love, fratello. You're in love," he replied, patting his back knowingly.

Italy listened to his brother's tales of woe as he tried to woo America, failing every time. While North Italy didn't understand some parts of Romano's explanation (where in the world did they find a duck large enough to ride around on?), he understood the gist of it and why his brother was suffering. In order to ease his pain, Italy pulled out a new bottle of wine and poured them each a glass.

America didn't seem to dislike Romano, it seemed more like he was the Master of Mixed Messages, always saying or doing something that encouraged Roma to pursue him (sharing meals, going on a stroll through the park, treating him like a king, giving hugs or lingering touches) but then shooting him down each time, whether it was intentional or not. Had the guy even heard of the concept of love or was it just as foreign to him as Grana Padano? America was a nice guy (he had to be, to gain Roma's affections), but he seemed completely oblivious to love.

"I-I don't get it, Feli!" sniffed Romano. "Where the hell did I go wrong?! What am I supposed to do?!"

Italy shushed his fratello and smoothed his hair back comfortingly. He hated seeing him so upset. There had to be something he could do to help his brother! Unfortunately, the ideas he offered were immediately rejected for reasons of "too girly" and "too stupid." Romano complained that wine is supposed to help inspire him and cursed it for failing him at such an important moment. He finished his current glass of red wine and Italy wordlessly poured him another…and another…and another…

After one or two more glasses wine, Romano got desperate. He was even willing to try his fratello's sappy ideas. And so the plotting began.

* * *

oOo

* * *

America was dreaming of the good old days. Way back when he and Canada were kids and able to spend all day playing (i.e. avoiding England) and not having a care in the world.

The dream was replaying a memory of the North American brothers running around the forests near the edge of a town. They had been playing hide-and-seek, so Chibimerica was getting his butt kicked by his sneaky brother. By the time Canada found him for the 42nd time, America resorted to the famous childhood tradition of name-calling.

"I don't like you anymore, Canada!" he pouted. "You're a tickle-brained pignut!"

Canada's face froze for an instant, before he burst into tears and ran down the path back to town. America felt bad and followed. He wasn't sure why Canada was so upset. Did his tummy hurt? By the time he made it back home, his younger sibling had already told England what happened.

The Brit wasted no time in chiding America, but the boy still had no idea what he did wrong.

"Listen up, America," England began. "Canada is your brother; you need to be kinder to him. Words can hurt people very much."

America's little blue eyes widened. Could words really do that? Was he the reason Canada was sad? He hadn't meant to make his brother cry! He was just upset that he was losing the game to him!

"D-Did my words make you sad?" America asked in disbelief. Canada nodded and said they did. The blonde looked back over at his caretaker for answers. "But why? I say that to everybody and they just laugh…Other people say stuff like that to him too."

"It's different when you say it to people you care for like friends and family," England explained. He also made a mental note to track down the ruttish miscreants who dared speak to one of his little charges that way (even if Canada was a bit odd and spoke _French_ of all things sometimes). The Brit would be more than happy to show them the error of their ways.

"O-Okay," America nodded. "I still don't really get it, but I'll try hard to figure it out!"

"That's good," smiled England. "If you're ever having trouble understanding you can trust me to be a big brother to rely on."

The dream flashed forward to the Revolutionary War, wherein America found himself fighting with England, the one person he was supposed to trust. He felt so hurt and confused; he didn't know what made his old caretaker change so much.

He was even more confused by England's tears. Why was he crying? He thought the Brit hated him. His little family was falling apart and he felt like there was nothing he could do to stop it. He hated himself for not doing anything sooner. Why couldn't things be as simple as they were when it was just him and Canada. After England, France, and well, _Europe_, came to his land, things got complicated. As the dream faded, the superpower yawned and forced his eyes open. He might have been dreaming, but the real world was exactly the same. Nothing was what it seemed and everyone had some kind of hidden agenda.

America broke into a small smile. Almost everyone.

The blonde reached for his phone and called Romano. He knew his best friend would be there to listen to him. Just as he thought, a sleepy South Italy answered the phone. Romano sounded so cute. Like a kitten who had just woken up from a nap. He briefly wondered what the Italian would look like with reddish-brown cat ears and a matching tail. America decided to keep that image to himself (clearly, he'd been spending too much time with Japan) and cut to the chase. For the next ten minutes, he filled in his friend on the strange dream he had.

Romano wasn't really sure how to make sense of half the babble America was spouting at 5 AM. He tried and tried, but the superpower lost him as some point after Canada was crying over hide and go seek. He figured the invisible bastard would be good at that game. Guess not? Then something about England being England and scolding America for…ticklish pigs? None of this made any sense at this hour. Then, America told him something that made Romano snap awake.

"Well, I'd been thinking of you as a friend, Roma, because you help me out, listen to me, and we spend time together, but I realize you're more than just that…"

Romano held his breath as America continued.

"I think you're much closer than that…you're family."

"F-Family?" he half-choked on the word.

"Yeah, it's been a long time since I was able to call someone my big brother, but that's kind of how I see you," the blonde happily exclaimed. "You're the big brother I always wanted!"

Romano nearly snapped his phone in half, but took a deep breath and managed to keep his temper in check. Sure, he was pissed (and almost liked being America's friend over being his brother), but he knew family was important to America and this was a big deal to him. Hell, this was probably one of the best compliments he could give a person.

"G-Great. I'm happy to hear it. I care about you too, bastard," the brunette twitched. "Some days."

A few moments of uncharacteristic silence came from America's end of the phone and then some even more uncharacteristic uncertainty in his voice.

"Hey, 'Mano…are you going anywhere?"

"I'd love to be going back to sleep, but I'm stuck talking to you at the moment," the Italian chuckled, despite everything.

"Thanks for letting me ramble," America smiled, satisfied with his answer. He liked the sound of Romano's voice, especially when he laughed. "It makes me feel good that I can rely on someone to be there for me again."

"Don't worry about it, hamburger-bastard."

"I suppose I'll let you get back to bed…"

"Ciao, idiota."

"G'night, bro!"

As soon as the line disconnected, Romano angrily snapped his phone shut and ignored the hairline fracture developing on the screen. Did he seriously just let America call him 'bro?' Ugh. He really hated himself sometimes…

* * *

oOo

* * *

The next time Romano saw America, he really couldn't make it any more obvious. He had made sure they had the day off and were going to spend it together driving along the Rocky Mountains and over some breathtaking forest and lake scenery (the view in Colorado was one of Alfred's favorites) in Romano's Ferrari on _Valentine's Day_ of all days. In a show of great trust and generosity, the Italian even let America drive.

This would be his first mistake of the evening.

America had so much fun going fast to pick up on any form of a romantic overtone. Catching the beautiful sunset and scenery? Forget it. While Romano normally drove at least 20 over the posted speed limit, even he was getting frustrated. His sexy car was something to be admired and appreciated, not some new toy to play with. Especially when he was trying to get America to see him in a new non-friend, non-brother light. After the blonde insisted on playing the Speed Racer theme, all hopes of communicating with him involved shouting at the top of his lungs to be heard. And shouting wasn't sexy. At least not in this instance.

Romano was almost relieved when a cop pulled them over.

After seeing the flashing red and blue lights, America seemed to realize what he'd done and felt a little guilty. He perked up when he saw the cop step out of his vehicle and approach theirs.

"Don't worry, 'Mano," the superpower winked. "I know this guy!"

The gruff-looking officer approached the Ferrari with a notepad in hand. He looked like your average, run of the mill cop, but it wouldn't surprise Romano if America could identify the entire police force on the Pacific coast.

"License and registra—Alfred, is that you?"

"How's it going, Smith?"

"Can't complain," the man laughed and tucked away his notepad. "I thought you drove a Camaro. When did you get yourself such a fine car?"

"It actually belongs to my buddy, here," America jerked his thumb towards the brunette, proud smile on his face.

"Your buddy owns a Ferrari?" the officer was impressed. He crouched to glance over the car's sleek red curves again.

"Yeah, he brought it with him all the way from South Italy!"

"Shit, my Italian buddy must be holding out on me then!" the man laughed. "You're a lucky guy, Al!"

Romano twitched at the reference (all three of them), too annoyed to even brag about how awesome Italian cars are. Of course, America and his cop buddy (ugh, now he ranked the same as some random cop) were doing a bang-up job of that already.

"So, is this the 458 Spider model from the 2011 Frankfurt Motor Show?"

"You know it!" America grinned. "This baby can go almost 200 mph easy!"

Nobody noticed Romano's eyebrows twitch as he very nearly corrected them. 320 km/h sounded far more impressive than their backwards-assed American system of measuring things by making vague associations with tangible objects. He still recalled America drawing a picture of four coffee mugs when he tried to explain to him how four cups go into a quart.

"And the retractable hard top?"

"Retracts in 14 seconds. This beauty was the first car to ever combine a mid-rear engine with a retractable folding hard top."

"Nice! 570 horsepower?"

"Nothing less."

If the mood wasn't already dead, that would have been the final stab as the last twitching nerve collapsed into a limp, motionless heap.

* * *

oOo

* * *

When they arrived at America's place (one of them, as the superpower had lots of small houses and apartments, so he could travel across his land more), Romano put his brother's plan into action. He had to admit he was a little concerned and still a bit fuzzy on how his stupid fratello managed to talk him into this, but his own plans had crashed and burned, he may as well give it a shot…

"America?" Romano asked, uncertainly reaching into the bag he brought with him. He was glad he unloaded it before they took the winding Rocky Mountain highways at 160 _km/h_.

"Yeah?"

"Th-These are for you…" South Italy shoved a mountain of homemade chocolates and a small bouquet of roses into the superpower's surprised arms. "F-For Valentine's day…"

"Um, thanks?" America stared at his handful of gifts, more than a little confused.

Sure, it was clichéd and sappy as hell, but South Italy was running out of ideas. Flowers and chocolate were practically a billboard advertisement for a love confession. A billboard with neon lights and arrows pointing at a giant heart flashing 'It's love, stupid!' And at least he hadn't placed a gentle kiss on each individual piece of chocolate before wrapping them in a delicate, lacy doily like his moronic brother suggested. Chigi! _That_ would have been embarrassing.

"It's, uh, it's because I…you…er, um..." stammered Romano, blushing brightly. He suddenly felt a lead weight form in his chest that made breathing difficult. What the hell was he doing?! He was a dumbass to follow through with Veneziano's idiotic plan! Figures that when he tried to help the little bastard pull through hard times, there was mountains of pasta and gelato involved, but the one time _he_ was struggling, Feli thought it would be helpful to get him drunk on wine. Dammit, if this fails because of the stupid wine, Romano decided he'd swear off wine completely…well, okay, maybe just _red_ wine…unless there was a special occasion. Or business formalities…or any time he ate beef.

Completely oblivious to Romano's inner turmoil, America's eyes lit up as he remembered the tradition Japan had told him about February 14th.

"It's okay, 'Mano," America patted his back. "I know what you're trying to say!"

"Y-You do?"

"Sure! Japan explained it to me!"

"He WHAT?!"

"You're supposed to give treats to your friends and family on Valentine's day, right?" the American laughed, pulling Romano into a one-armed hug. "That was really nice of you!"

Romano's brain was still trying to process the situation.

"Don't worry, I won't forget my best friend on White's Day!" he winked. "I'll find you some really good chocolate for all your troubles. The kind you brought look amazing! Did you make them yourself?"

Unable to form a proper response that didn't involve cursing, Romano only nodded. America was even more excited, and briefly left the room to grab a vase for the flowers and drinks for the two of them. He wanted to dig in on the specially-made chocolates right away. As soon as he was out of earshot, Romano fumed.

"I am going to KILL that ricecake bastard! ! !"

* * *

oOo

* * *

A/N

Part one of the reason America is so oblivious is done. The second half will be described more in the final chapter…which will be out in a week or so (hopefully). Hard to believe this story is almost done!

-Rajikka

**Translations:**

Fratello – Brother (It.)

Dio mio – My god (It.)

Grana Padano – A famous Italian cheese popular among aristocrats and commoners alike. Nowadays, it's still a well-known cheese and used in a variety of gourmet dishes (which is why Feli assumes America wouldn't know what it is). It has a sweet and savory taste.

Idiota – Idiot (It.)

Valentine's Day and White's Day – In Japan, a common tradition is for women to give men chocolate on Valentine's day. It can be honmei-choko ("true love chocolate") or giri-choko ("obligation chocolate"). The latter is given more often to male friends, co-workers, or bosses (i.e. people one has no romantic interest in, but feels friendship or gratitude towards). On March 14th (White's Day) the men return the favor and get gifts for the women. So America was partially right...he just thought he was getting giri-choko.


	5. Movie

Disclaimer: I don't own it, I just ship it.

Warning: swearing, male x male pairings, and a touch of OOC (which I'll try to avoid the best I can)

A/N – Guess who didn't have to go to work today for an unpaid meeting that would otherwise waste 2 ½ hours of her life? I know; I was really sad when it got cancelled too. So sad, that I decided to prance out of the building plotting about all the ways I could spend my bonus free time writing about attractive men in attractive positions.

I think the reoccurring theme in this chapter is 'tough love' and surprisingly, it doesn't come from either Romano or America.

* * *

oOo

* * *

News travels fast among the Nations, especially given the fact that some of them have a tendency to gossip like little schoolgirls. So when Italy heard about Romano's most recent rejection, he mentioned it to Germany and Prussia during his next visit. Italy hadn't intended to make a big deal of it, he was just curious for some outside opinions on where the in the world it went wrong. How can one person be so completely dense when it came to romance? Even Germany understood Italy's intentions when the Italian gave him flowers and chocolate. _Germany_, who's default emotions had been serious, stoic, and angry.

Neither German brother was sure why America wasn't getting the hint, but only the albino seemed interested in it. His blonde counterpart preferred to stay out of matters of the heart…or anything that involved relationships for the matter. Prussia had several ideas involving America being dropped on his head by England as a child or kicked in the head by a bronco during his cowboy days, but was otherwise unhelpful. Italy sighed and decided to make them all pasta to lift the dreary atmosphere.

Germany, who wasn't keen on playing Telephone with others, kept the Italian's worries to himself. His brother on the other hand, immediately picked up his phone and called his boyfriend, who just happened to be related to the thick-headed American in question.

Prussia told Canada the whole story, and the North American Nation was moved by how hard Romano was trying for his dork of a brother. Canada completely ignored Prussia's rant about Romano's crazy knife-throwing episode, as his mind was elsewhere. He knew how hard it is to get through to America and wanted to help South Italy if he could. As soon as he had said his goodbyes to Prussia ("Goodbye, Birdie! Looooove you!") he decided to visit his pain in the neck older brother. Canada had plenty of experience dealing with America's obliviousness over the years, so he was confident he could tell him how much effort Romano had put into getting him to like him.

* * *

oOo

* * *

When Canada made it down to America's main house (the one he built himself in Virginia), he decided to play things casually. The wavy-haired blonde made his brother some pancakes and they dug in.

"So how's it been going, America?"

"Mmm?" America looked up, mouth full of delicious pancakes. He swallowed before continuing (shocking Canada, who had never seen his brother instinctively chew and swallow food to avoid talking with his mouth open. Romano must have been a bigger and better influence than he knew). "Pretty good. Romano was just here last week to hang out!"

"Oh, really?" Canada smiled politely. "You two have been hanging out a lot more, lately. What did you do?"

"It was awesome! We met in Colorado and Romano brought his _Ferrari!_" America beamed. "Have you ever been in a Ferrari, bro? Those cars are amazing! Romano's the _best!_"

"That must have been fun. What else did you do?"

"After cruising around the Rockies, we headed back here and 'Mano gave me some chocolates," a dreamy look crossed America's face. "They were so good! If I knew you were visiting, I would have tried to save you a piece. 'Mano made them himself."

"America, if he made them for you; that means they were intended only for you."

"It's okay, I think it was just giri-choko."

"...What?"

America told his brother about the Japanese tradition of Valentine's Day and White's Day. Canada couldn't help but wince and thought '_Wrong Italy!_' but managed to stay calm, feeling worse for Romano. When the short-haired blonde started rambling how he wanted to bring that tradition to the 'States, Canada cut him off.

"I thought North Italy was the one who was friends with Japan…"

"He is, but I think Romano is too. How else would he have gotten an English-translated copy of Tales of Final Dreams XIV?" America sighed. "Japan didn't even give _me_ a copy and we've been friends forever!"

Canada resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Actually, I heard that Romano translated that for you."

"'Mano did that?"

"Yeah, Prussia told me he stayed up all night translating it at Germany's house after meeting Japan there."

"I…I didn't know that…" America had a whole new level of respect for his friend.

"There's a lot you don't know…" the polar bear enthusiast muttered, not realizing his inner voice had become his speaking voice.

"What'd you say?" his brother tilted his head.

"U-Um, that was really nice of him, wasn't it?"

"Yeah! He's the best friend ever!" America's smile lit up the room.

"You know…" Canada's face softened. "Romano really, truly cares about you, America. He isn't pulling some kind of joke or messing with you."

"What do you mean?"

"I know you're not used to that kind of attention and you might not know how to react to it, eh?" Canada continued. "Because some of the other Nations prefer to fight or yell at you, most of the time you tend to ignore them and the pain they bring. You're the king of not letting others rain on your parade, but you miss out on a lot because of that. Sometimes, you miss out on seeing how much the people closest to you really love you…like Romano."

By the end of it, America seemed stunned. It wasn't often that Canada saw his brother speechless like this.

"Do you understand?"

"Of course I do!" America brightened and jumped up, excited expression on his face.

"Good, because that's what Romano has been trying to tell and show you with his actions," Canada smiled. Maybe his brother wasn't such a lost cause after all.

"So, 'Mano's been doing all that because he wants to spend more time together!"

"Uh, yes, technically, but—"

"Then this weekend, we'll all have to have a movie night! My place! I've got the biggest TV! This'll be great! We can invite both Italies, Prussia, his brother… and popcorn! We'll need lots of popcorn!" The hero walked off putting details together, leaving his brother behind, shaking slightly in annoyance.

"A…America, you _hoser!_"

* * *

oOo

* * *

After getting the invite, Italy informed Romano that he already accepted for both of them

"You didn't even bother to ask me," snorted the tsundere.

"You'd really turn down another chance to see America?" the younger Italy crossed his arms knowingly.

"I might…" Romano looked away.

"Then call him right now and tell him that."

"What?"

Without another word, Italy swiped his brother's phone from the coffee table and dialed America's number, which was now on speed dial after himself and before their Boss.

"Here. Tell him you can't go," Veneziano tossed him the phone.

"What the fuck are you doing, Feli?! You can't just—"

"_Hello?_" America's voice picked up.

Romano glared at his brother, but managed to answer normally.

"Hi, bastard."

"'_Mano! Did you get the invite about the movie night? You have to come!"_

"U-Uh, about that…" he ignored his brother's smirk. Where'd he even learn to smirk like that anyway? Cazzo, maybe he really was a bad influence on him…

"_I got a special popcorn maker, just like the one in the movie theaters! And we're watching The Avengers because you said you haven't seen it yet!"_ America happily informed his friend. "_Oh, and if there's time, we can watch Captain America! He's one of my favorite heroes!"_

"I bet he is…" Romano felt himself slowly smiling, despite himself.

"_Yeah! So please say you'll come, 'Mano! It wouldn't be the same without you!"_

Romano could feel his heart beat faster. America sounded so damned happy that he was going. Most people didn't care if he went to things one way or another, as long as North Italy was present. It was nice to feel…included for a change. America hadn't once mentioned his fratello either. He had only asked if Romano was showing up. The half-nation didn't want to be the one to ruin his day and tell him he was bailing because he didn't want to see him. He _did_ want to see him…it just hurt a little.

"O-Of course, I'm going, idiot. I was just calling to see if you needed me to bring anything."

Italy had a full-on grin by this point. After another minute or two, Romano got off the phone with America and shot him a glare.

"Not another word."

* * *

oOo

* * *

They all gathered in America's Virginia house. Italy ended up having to drag the dejected Romano (who had a last-minute panic attack), until he threatened to ask Germany and Prussia to help him. That was all it took to convince Romano that his feet worked and he assured his Northern counterpart that no macho potato bastards were necessary.

Italy knew Romano still cared about America and while seeing the blonde may hurt, it would be for his own good. Besides, he had just picked both of them up a nice trademark Cerruti original shirt (nearly impossible to find these days). His own was green, while Romano's was red. Nobody could wear red like Romano.

Veneziano believed that if America had decided to invite Romano to the party, there was still a chance he understood how Romano felt. Especially after he found out that Prussia had told Canada all about it. Italy was able to stop the albino from telling Spain and France, because those two were the absolute _last_ people on earth who needed to know. He could already picture France trying to take advantage of his fratello's situation while Spain would go on a rampage and quite possibly show up on America's doorstep with his battleaxe at the ready.

But Italy believed he could trust Canada (after Prussia reminded him who he was). Canada seemed like a good brother and wouldn't do anything to drive America away from Romano. He might even offer to help Romano, if he just asked. Italy now made it his mission to talk to Canada at the movie night and brainstorm…he'd just have to find him first.

* * *

oOo

* * *

"Canada~!" Italy hugged the person in front of him. "It's been such a long time! How are you?"

"Wow, I think that's the first time I've been mistaken for Canada!" America laughed.

"V-Ve?" Italy leaped back, trying not to notice the death glare his brother was sending him. "Mi dispiace, America! Um, excuse me!"

He quickly scurried off, allowing America to greet Romano.

"I'm so glad you made it, 'Mano!" the blonde wrapped his arms around the Italian in a giant bear hug.

"Hmph, it was only because you promised me 'the best popcorn in the world' and I had nothing better to do tonight…"

"Right this way, then…" America laughed and guided him down the hallway. "The popcorn machine's in the kitchen. Do you like your popcorn with butter, salt, or both?"

Canada resumed host duties and greeted the others at the door. It wasn't technically his job, but he knew how easily distracted his brother could be. He offered Germany a handshake and Prussia a kiss on the cheek.

"Thanks, Birdie!" the albino grinned. "By the way, I think Ita was looking for you."

"North Italy?" Canada tilted his head. "What did he want to talk about?"

"Not sure, but it seemed important."

And indeed it was. Italy was currently sitting in the corner with Kumajiro on his lap discussing all the ways they could try to hook up their older brothers. As he patted 'Canada's' hair/fur, he made sure to compliment him on how soft it felt. He clearly took after France's side of the family in that respect. Kumajiro thought the amber-eyed man was a few noodles short of a pasta dinner, but figured he could let him ramble on a little longer as long as he kept petting him.

Canada went off searching for North Italy, but found South Italy instead. He saw the blank look in Romano's eyes and immediately felt a twinge of guilt on his brother's behalf. Poor Romano…but his heart really went out to him whenever America was around. Even though he was clearly in pain, Romano's face lit up when America was near. His eyes regained their spark and he was quick to act like nothing was wrong. His distant look only resurfaced when the blonde had left the room or unable to see him in his current position.

Canada felt a new level of respect for the half-nation, who was giving his all for America, even though he was most likely thinking his feelings would never be returned. Canada decided then and there that this was the right person for America, and he was going to do what he could to help him.

* * *

oOo

* * *

"Hey, South! Movie's about to start!" Prussia shouted into the kitchen. "And I need you for something!"

"Why should I care, potato bastard?" Romano exited with another bag full of popcorn. Even he had to admit that America's popcorn machine was pretty good.

"I was just wondering if you knew why Ita has been talking to the food table for the last twenty minutes."

"What?"

Sure enough, they both looked at Italy, who was across the room, completely enraptured talking to a bottle of syrup at the folding table set up with pancakes, popcorn, pasta, and other goodies. After Italy laughed at some joke the syrup bottle made, both big brothers decided to let him be, Germany could deal with it.

* * *

oOo

* * *

As everyone gathered in front of the giant, wall-sized TV, America made a final speech about the glorious film they were going to watch. He mentioned all of the talented actors that made this film possible (expressing with great pride how Scarlett Johansson/Black Widow was in fact an _American_ actress, not a creepy Russian one) and went on to praise the script, written by one of his favorites – Joss Whedon, the man behind Buffy, Dr. Horrible, Firefly, and Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. When Germany made the mistake of asking what 'Firefly' was, a loud shouting match began, wherein America nearly kicked him out and Prussia threatened to disown him. It was during that moment Canada made his move, skillfully swapping out the Avengers DVD with a scary movie, so terrifying it was outlawed in several theaters.

Everyone settled into their seats – Italy curled up besides Germany on the giant recliner, Prussia besides Canada on the aptly named loveseat, and America near Romano on the remaining couch. The Italian had hoped to keep some distance between the two of them (so he could actually focus on the movie and not his crush), but America happily plopped down next to Romano after hitting 'play' on the remote.

The movie began and Canada managed to convince the others who had seen the real movie that this was the 'Canadian Version' of The Avengers in order to keep it playing. Prussia immediately knew he was full of crap, but knew better than to call him out on it. After all, it wasn't every day that the wavy-haired Canadian actually lied about something. It must be important, so he made damn sure not to say otherwise and risk meeting the heel of Canada's hockey stick. America, who hadn't learned his lesson by now, blindly believed his innocent little brother.

He soon regretted that choice.

"C-C-Canada, are you s-sure this is The Avengers?" he whimpered, having pulled the blanket he shared with Romano up to his nose.

"Of course, America," Canada nodded politely. "It's the Canadian version, remember? You'll see Ironman in the next part.

Several screams were heard as a chainsaw roared to life and took the lives of several brainless actors.

As America was too horror-stricken to remove the movie from the DVD player, the gang continued to watch it. Canada was fine (he loves scary movies), Romano found himself sympathizing with the murderer who was rejected by his lover, Germany was a bit worried (holding North Italy a little tighter than intended), Prussia was freaked, while Feli and America passed the time by screaming in terror.

During the freak-out, America latched himself onto Romano. When he was that close to the Italian, he realized Romano's voice calmed him while his scent excited him. It reminded him of basil, oregano, and something sweet…it made him recall all of the meals they shared. America realized he'd never been this close to the brunette before and he didn't want to move. Even with the movie scaring the shit out of him, he felt safe with Romano.

Meanwhile, Romano was torn between feeling happy and feeling tormented by the guy who friend-zoned him and was now throwing himself at him.

"America, if you don't stop screaming in my ear, I'll shut you up myself," he warned him.

"I-I'm sorry!" America apologized, but once the killer popped out at the main characters with an army of ghosts, he lost it again.

"America…" Romano growled.

"S-Sorry!" he squeaked out an apology.

Somewhere in the middle of it, Romano decided to hell with it all.

"I told you I'd shut you up, and I'm a man of my word," the Italian interrupted him, leaning towards the blonde. America stared at him with an unreadable expression in his eyes. With that, Romano kissed him square on the lips, staying that way for a few seconds before pulling back.

Romano blushed, not sure what the blonde would do. He braced himself for the inevitable shove or kick that was sure to come…but it never did.

America stared into Romano's eyes for a few seconds, his senses completely overwhelmed. He couldn't process what was going on around him anymore, all he knew was that he wanted Romano and pulled him back in for more kisses. As their lips crashed together, the rest of the world faded away.

The ghosts couldn't get him as long as he had Romano there with him. They could stay that way for the rest of their lives as far as he was concerned.

* * *

oOo

* * *

A/N

Canadian matchmaking at its finest! Now I don't have to beat some sense into America! Hope you all enjoyed the fic, especially **91 RedRoses**! I had a blast writing it! Although anything with Romerica is always a good time. There were a few strategies that I had for Roma in addition to the ones used in this fic, so they will appear elsewhere (most likely Coffeehouse Drabbles). Thanks for sticking around and supporting it until the end :)

-Rajikka

**Translations:**

Fratello – Brother (It.)

Hoser – A stupid, unsophisticated, or loutish person (Can.) I've also seen it described as something you'd call your brother when your parents don't allow you to swear.

Idiota – Idiot (It.)

Cazzo – Damn, shit, fuck, standard Italian curse word

Mi dispiace – I'm sorry (It.)


End file.
